


Of Mosquitoes And Aliens

by FujurPreux



Category: Lilo & Stitch (2002)
Genre: Alien Abduction, Alien Character(s), Alien Cultural Differences, Gen, Pre-Canon, mentions of alien experimentation, teen Cobra Bubbles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 06:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FujurPreux/pseuds/FujurPreux
Summary: So, Cobra Bubbles saved the Earth once convincing aliens of the importance of mosquitoes. Here's my take of how he did it.





	Of Mosquitoes And Aliens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clone/gifts).



> Beta by htbthomas, to whom I'm really grateful!

Cobra kept his eyes closed as he took three deep breaths. The unfamiliar ceiling was still there when he opened them, and his throat still hurt too much to talk. His own fault. He of all people should have known that screaming his throat raw when he already had a cold wouldn't lead anywhere productive. But when one woke up on table tied up from wrists and ankles, some details tended to move to a second plane. His was a situation that gave way to a primal fear that covered him like the world's worst blanket ever. And he knew about awful and smelly blankets – one of those terrible side effects of being an orphan.

Waking up under unfamiliar ceiling after unfamiliar ceiling was another side effect of orphanhood, but it was supposed to have stopped the year before in that new place, or so all the social workers promised. Every one of them also promised, a big smile upon their faces, that he would stop having to deal with that kind of crap altogether the day he turned eighteen and he could get an actual job. So one more year. Three hundred and sixty days, to be exact.

And then, this had happened.

But he would survive. He would. He made that promise to himself.

Panic began to fade into a more focused fear mixed with anger as he spoke to himself, and he began to assess the situation.

The unfamiliarity of the ceiling extended beyond the simple fact of not having been there ever before. The entire room was not made of rock. It wasn't made of metal, nor plastic. Nor glass nor wood for that matter. Cobra just couldn't give a name for the material. A soft, bluish light came from all around him, without a definite source. It was enough to see, but not to hurt his eyes.

He turned his head to the side. The walls were about six feet away from the table from all directions. He didn't see doors nor windows, and he heard a _plack-plack_ next to his ears. He turned his head. There it was again. Cobra tried to reach up to touch his ears, but the restraints made it impossible.

A hole appeared in the wall. A chunk of the wall simply vanished, and a figure walked in. It was so far from anything Cobra knew, with its eight limbs, big eye in the middle of the head, and green skin, that he would have started to scream again had his throat being in good condition. He could, however, thrash around in his restraints. Which he did.

“Oh, dear, you're awake!” the thing said. Then it continued in what was obviously an effort to sound soothing, which only added to the creepiness and surrealism of the situation. “It seems we'll need to recalibrate the dose yet again. But don't worry. We'll be done soon and you'll be back to frolic with all your little friends.”

“The universal translator is on, you know?” a second figure said. This one looked like a purple lobster, pincers and all.

“Yes, I'm aware of it,” the first one replied. “However, all the species on this planet are too primitive. Even if their brains pick up the signal, they won't be able to decode it.”

The second one made a movement that looked like a shrug. “If you say so.”

“Yes, I say so. And I see this one's already tagged.”

“Tagged and ready to go as soon as we finish the blood tests.”

“Make sure to save some for more tests with the tranquilizers. We're bound to get it right at some point.”

“On it, boss. On it. While we're at it, and before we activate them, maybe we should use smaller tags. These are too big; they might get tangled in something.”

“Nonsense. This species likes to pretty themselves with shiny things, see?” He pointed at the buttons of Cobra's shirt. “We're just making him popular!”

“How do you know he's a he?”

“A hunch.”

The more they talked, the more furious Cobra grew. He couldn't even begin to decide what in all of that made him feel more insulted. So he settled on everything.

These had to be aliens, the kind people talked about in those late-night shows and disreputable magazines adults frowned upon. Cobra and the rest of the kids were free to read most everything else but those. That didn’t stop any of them, of course. He didn’t particularly enjoy the magazines, but it was something fun to do to kill time, to read articles by writers who probably had one drink too many.

It had stopped being funny now that he had been abducted and experimented on. That he could understand; humans also caught other species to learn what made them tick, so the same curiosity manifesting in other intelligent species was to be expected. The problem here was the way those two aliens talked: exactly like the long string of well-meaning adults he'd had to endure for years on end, who did it as if he wasn't there, as if he didn't matter and didn't have the right to make his own choices.

He got ready to show them why he got his nickname – how he spat metaphorical venom from his mouth – and to make clear what he thought of them. But instead of the words so carefully chosen in his mind, what came out was a hiss with some vowels in between as he trashed around in the restraints once again.

“See?” the green alien said as he moved to poke something at Cobra's feet. “That's why we should be more careful with the tranquilizers. He's just hurting himself.” As he spoke and kept playing with what could be only a control panel, Cobra's restraints loosened up. “I'll adjust this so you're more comfortable. Just a moment.”

Cobra took another deep breath to clear his throat, but all he got was a coughing fit.

Curse that cold.

“That… doesn't sound so good,” said the green alien.

“No, it doesn't,” said the lobster one. With a gesture, he projected colorful graphics that hovered right above Cobra, who was unable to make sense of them. It seemed like the universal translator thing didn’t include writing. “Results are back. He has an infection.”

After a moment, the green alien covered his mouth with two of his limbs as he analyzed the projection. “Oh, goodness.” He turned around, pressed a specific place on the wall, making the hole appear again. “Oh, no. No, no. We're not having another Sector XB324 on my watch! We'll cleanse the entire planet this time. Call the Grand Councilwoman for authorization.”

“Wouldn’t that be a tad too much?”

“Sector XB324! Don’t you remember? No precaution is too much!”

The lobster sighed. “Fine. I’ll send the paperwork,” said the lobster as he followed the other one outside the room, leaving Cobra alone on the table – with enough leeway in the restraints for him to finally get out of them.

Once Cobra saw himself free, he hoped for the best and pressed the exact same spot the green alien had.

The hole opened.

Cobra sighed in relief and peeked outside. The hall was empty, so he risked it and sneaked out, alert and ready to pick up the slightest sound, movement, or vibration.

What he felt, though, was an unfamiliar weight hanging from his ears. He reached up to them and felt an earring-like thing on each of them. A long, cold rectangle he tried to tug away, but couldn't. He frowned and tried again. Nothing. He’d need tools for this, so he set out to find them. Or an exit. Preferably both.

Once he left that place, he should pretend this hadn't happened, or he risked appearing on the cover of those magazines, jeopardizing his hopes of freedom and self-sufficiency. Just keep his head down and talk about this as if it was dream to be laughed about in the future.

“ _Hey, man, I dreamed about aliens running tests_ _on_ _my blood.”_

“ _Stop taking whatever it is you’r_ _e_ _taking before bed, dude.”_

Then laughter and then he could forget about it.

But they wanted that, didn’t they? When they said they would send him back to 'frolic with his friends.'

Cobra pursed his lips. He wouldn't give them that satisfaction.

Besides, the word _cleanse_ echoed inside his skull in all kinds of disturbing ways. What had exactly happened in that Sector XB-whatever? He had to find out or he wouldn't be able to live with himself. Or he might even not be able to live at all, period.

Sneaking around, Cobra found enough dark corners and spaces overhead to stay safe while eavesdropping, since he couldn’t go to one of the aliens and ask to their face.

About two hours later, his efforts were rewarded.

A different set of aliens in full-body suits met right underneath him. The only visible difference between them was their size.

“No sign of the sick creature,” said the smaller one. “Maybe he did escape the ship.”

“They should have activated the tracking tags when they had the chance,” answered the other one. “Ah. It’s fine. We just finished disinfecting everything.”

“Poor thing. I hope he gets better.”

“Ah… you didn’t hear? Boss submitted the paperwork for a full cleanse.”

The small alien gasped. “It’s that bad?”

“Sector XB324-bad, yes.”

“Oh, no…”

“Not right now, though. The Great Councilwoman needs to come here herself to evaluate the situation before the Federation rains fire on the planet.”

“Which means we’re stuck _in_ the ship _on_ this planet until that’s cleared.”

“Pretty much, yeah. Shouldn’t be more than three days, though. We have a lot of food in stock. We’ll be fine.”

“We will, but what about the poor creatures out there?”

“All we can do is hope they had a good run. At least it’ll be quick.”

They both stayed there in silence for a moment before continuing their paths, leaving Cobra frozen in fear.

It was just a cold!

_A cold!_

What would they think of the flu? And what had even happened in Sector XB-something?

Cobra had to do something. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want anyone to die. He wanted the planet to continue being alive. But what could he do?

Breathe. First, he had to breathe. Then, he ran through his options.

The aliens were annoying, but they didn’t seem outright evil. They had planned to release him, after all, and they hadn’t hurt him. Maybe he could reason with them.

He tried to articulate a couple of words, but only a hiss came out. A hiss followed by a sting in his throat. But he had two days until an authority figure arrived. In his experience, given the scientists’ brand of condescension, he’d have a better chance to be listened to if he spoke with someone actually in charge. The Great Councilwoman, in this case.

Two days. If he took care of himself, he could be well enough by then – and he could organize his thoughts into a coherent argument. He would need one.

Fine, now that he had a plan, he should proceed with it. So, to take care of himself.

He wandered through the ship for about one hour, looking for anything he could use. He found several rooms like the one he had been trapped in. Not all of them were occupied and none the ones with other humans in them. Instead, there were some reptiles and insects in flasks. Cobra felt both relieved and disappointed; he wasn’t looking forward to spend the next two days alone.

Finally, Cobra found one big, heavy door, made of metal. He pushed it and opened to an abandoned luxury hotel that, according to the brochures he found, was in Florida. The kitchen was still in working order and, judging by the layer of dust on everything, the aliens didn't have a use for it. But Cobra did, and to continue with his good luck, he found a lot of drinkable water, honey and good-quality tea in the pantry. Outside, a messy garden kindly provided fruit and vegetables ready for the taking. Yes, he could survive here for three days.

It was then, though, as he sighed with relief, that he caught his own reflection on the window, and he was finally able to see the famous tags. He had forgotten about them, and now that he could see them, they upset him further.

From each ear, like the ugliest earrings in the world, hung two thin golden panels with some doodles scribbled on them. Fine not doodles, but Very Serious Scientific Information in the aliens' language, and he hated them as he had never hated anything before. Those aliens truly couldn't even conceive he was a sentient, intelligent being, could they? Well, he would show them.

Cobra spent the next two days drinking tea with honey, eating fruit, fighting mosquitoes, and trying to remove the tags from his ears with every knife he found in the kitchen. None of them worked. None of them made the slightest scratch on the things.

Hate, hate, hate.

In the morning of the third day, Cobra left the safety of the kitchen feeling stronger, dirtier, but with a plan he kept safe in an empty pickle flask inside his coat pocket.

The ship remained where he’d left it. Since no one expected him, he sneaked back in just as easily as got out. Once there, all he had to do now was to remain out of sight until they arrived. Not a big problem, since the aliens on the ship seemed to have more important matters to attend, and they thought him long gone.

The ship departed soon enough, and it took them less than ten minutes to go from Florida to who knew where. Just as planned.

Once they they landed again, Cobra waited for the aliens to go through the corridor and then followed them to the exit from a safe distance. He saw them descend and waited for the right time to intervene. He managed to peek outside. They were in a desert, but beyond that, and wit the lack of of helpful signs like the ones he had found in Florida, they could be anywhere on Earth. But at least they were on Earth.

Another ship waited in front of them, bigger, more imposing. More official. A different group of aliens came out from there. Different as in from other species, with other shapes, other colors, more eyes, less eyes, more limbs, less limbs. Different. Just different. However, the Grand Councilwoman was easy to spot. She walked at the front of the entourage, with unmistakable dignity and gravity, both hands touching in front of her torso. She seemed like the kind of person who would never tolerate any kind of nonsense in her presence. Given that she had made the effort to come all the way here to decide whether or not to burn a planet, Cobra could only hope she was also fair and open to dialogue.

The alien scientists approached and bowed their heads. The leader made an attempt to bring the Grand Councilwoman to his ship so she could be more comfortable.

“I've spent the last three days sitting down,” she replied, waving her hands. “Please, go ahead with your request and then show me your evidence.”

Thus, the scientist began to expose his case. He spoke about biodiversity and the importance of life but also about the incident in Sector XB324, where billions upon billions died due an outbreak the Federation had been unable to prevent.

“I remember that,” the Grand Councilwoman said. “Terrible business.”

“Indeed. That's why we must act swiftly now. In such a primitive planet, we can proceed with a thorough cleanse before it spreads and spare the rest of the system.”

“Can we?” the Grand Councilwoman replied and looked around to the desert.

A hawk flew over them, sun shining through the feathers in the tip of its wings. Then, it dived not far away from them, probably catching a rabbit.

The Grand Councilwoman sighed.

“How certain are you that the disease will spread?”

Cobra's cue.

He took a deep breath and came out from the ship, both hands up and trying not to look as scared as he felt.

“He's not!” Cobra said. “He doesn't know what he's talking about.”

The aliens, especially the scientists, gasped. All save the Grand Councilwoman. She remained unfazed, and Cobra had to respect her for that.

“You!” the scientists said. “You can talk!”

“Of course I can talk! I only had a cold before, nothing bad. It's gone now, too. I got better.”

“Who are you?” the Grand Councilwoman asked.

“Name's Cobra, ma'am. I wish to speak on behalf of my planet, if I may.”

“As it is your right,” she replied, nodding. “Proceed.”

“Yes, I was sick before,” Cobra began. “But, as I said, now I am better. Thanks to” d – he paused dramatically, both for effect and to calm his nerves – , “–this!” He took out the flask and showed its content to everyone. “Mosquitoes. They eat our blood and process it, killing all the germs in it. I am the proof!” Cobra now took off his jacket and let them see in his arms the bites he got in Florida. “See? That's what they do, that's why we're still alive here on Earth.”

The Grand Councilwoman and the lead scientists had leaned down to look at the bites. It looked like they were buying it, which emboldened him.

He continued.

“Problem is, they're endangered.”

“Endangered?” the scientist repeated.

Here came the trickiest part. Cobra crossed his metaphorical fingers and hoped for the best.

“Yeah. Have you seen mosquitoes anywhere else in the galaxy?”

“Well, no, but – ”

“So, these… mosquitoes keep all the disease in check?” said the Grand Councilwoman.

“Yes,” Cobra said, such a big lie in such a small word. “It's the only way. We have tried everything else. Listen, if you were to – to _cleanse_ the planet, with no mosquitoes to destroy them, the germs then would take off to find more life to infect.”

“Is that even possible?” someone in the Great Councilwoman’s entourage said.

“We cannot make assumptions regarding alien biology we're just starting to study,” one of the scientists said. Cobra recognized the voice as the one who had been worried about Earth back when he first heard the details. He thanked him mentally. “It might as well be.”

Murmurs rose among the aliens while the Grand Councilwoman remained deep in thought.

Cobra’s eyes remained fixed in her. She had the last word, and he hoped it would be favorable. He hoped he had managed to save his home and everyone he knew.

The Grand Councilwoman made up her mind after one minute of deliberation.

“Very well. Since that is how the infection is contained, the Federation will not meddle with the life cycle of the mosquito. No cleansing and no further contact will be allowed, except for extraordinary circumstances.”

Cobra sighed in relief and bowed as he handed the flask full of mosquitoes to the scientists. “Thank you, ma'am.”

“By the way, take those things off,” she continued as she looked at the tags hanging from Cobra's ears. “They are not very flattering.”

“I've been trying, ma'am,” Cobra replied and glanced at the lobster-like alien, who produced a pair of fancy scissors to finally – finally – cut off those things.

After that, both alien ships hurried to take flight again, and got lost up in the sky. The perfect moment for Cobra to realize he had been left stranded in the desert.

He hadn't run out of luck, though. About thirty seconds later, a fleet of black cars surrounded the area, and then a small army of men dressed in black suits came out of them and surrounded Cobra. CIA agents, they turned out to be. Late, too. But whatever.

Cobra traded his information for a bath, not anticipating a job offer once he was done. He always saw himself more community-oriented, but he promised to think about it.

In the end, though, he arrived to the conclusion that there were many ways to help the community, so he enrolled to give it a try and see if he liked it. If not, he could always change jobs further down the line. After all, with the planet still alive and going strong, he had a world’s-worth of opportunities in front of him to take as he saw fit.


End file.
